Forbidden Love
by Thunderxtw
Summary: Being worlds apart doesn’t always mean you can’t come together. An AU story told in three chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Beginning Author's Note:** I meant for this to be a oneshot, but figured it was much too long, so I wrote it into 3 seperate chapters. Be forewarned that this story is once again another AU. Soooo….that means that Bryan Fury, the lead character here, won't be the demented, murderous psychotic cyborg we all know and love. He won't even be a cyborg. I originally didn't intend to do this fic until _**Junking**_ pitched it to me. It's kinda funny how this story came to be, so if you're interested in learning of its origin, you'll find it in the author's note at the end of chapter 3 as well as a glossary of the terms used in the story. Just so everyone knows: this fic is not meant to be racist or demeaning if it comes off that way. I don't condone such behavior.

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**Forbidden Love**

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It started as an omen: the streets of Cairo, Egypt smeared in streaks of crimson.

Bodies rotted along with the memories of the fallen, the forgotten, and the beloved. The Earth bled for the losses of its children, cried loud enough for everyone to hear, but nobody listened. Crying couldn't tame this wild beast. It had to go until it gave out on its own.

The sky was afire and even so, it still rained, coming down in a bevy of Hellfire missiles. Shadows had deepened over the horizon and a satanic murmur slithered through the smoke-ridden air.

Was Armageddon on its way?

Life's fireball promised a better tomorrow each morning it rose over the golden dunes and craggy mountains; however, as faith dwindled, many wound up hoping it'd never come and that life, all together, would just end.

For those unwilling to give in, the only option left was to fight, but for how long? What benefits did survival guarantee other than scars? Bodies and minds hurt by the scars that'd cut so deep they'd never heal. These weren't like tattoos a person could peel off; they'd remain visible for all eternity, not just to reflect, but to remind--remind one of the unfaithful day they stepped into that raging inferno and lived to tell about it.

Some soldiers spent their whole lives trying to forget the people they'd shot, the damages they'd caused, and the lives they'd ruined, but all war did to anyone was ruin. Broken bones and shattered vitality were but a fraction of the price paid.

Soldiers had no say in battles like this, armed with only a purpose and a determined will to carry it out. Duty governed their lives as if they had none of their own. They had to learn to adapt to that cruelty, that pain that'd tear their bodies in half in one swift, unrelenting sweep.

The ones in high command preached about honor, but the word had long lost its meaning in a world no longer sacred or respected.

What did it mean to die with honor nowadays? After the sacrifice and all that transpired before it, there was nothing to feel honored about.

Once a person donned the uniform, laced up those boots, and hiked into the shadowy unknown, they kissed the life of placidity and normalcy goodbye. Some wouldn't miss it, but others screamed and begged to have it back.

In every battle, soldiers lost a touch of their humanity. Bryan Fury was no different. He was mortal, yes, but fully human? No. He'd shot and killed several men himself; in the service, it was an achievement, for him it was a montage of graphic nightmares he'd forever have on his conscience.

The war was still on.

"Is this right?" Bryan asked himself that question each day amidst the car bombings, convoy ambushes, and growing number of civilian causalities. One couldn't help but wonder when it would all cease. Everyday was like a segment of hell he didn't want to relive, a mental sadist within him that would never rest. Although the violence had inured Bryan, he still possessed a mere shard of humanity he'd yet to lose.

He'd seen his "brothers" die in front of him in droves, like cattle lured into slaughter. Whenever he ventured back into that ungodly battlefield with his comrades, it was inevitable someone wasn't coming back. Sometimes the truth was as merciless as detonated shrapnel, puncturing both mind and body alike.

In war, crossing the line was only a fallacy—a prefabricated myth. Through the fiery haze, a single bullet was the destroyer of everything: a successful career, a would-be marriage, and even a life that had yet to have begun. Everyday was another loss, another chapter written with a bleak finish. At night, the sky was an oily sea, the stars and moon hidden within its dark depths. Below it was peril, sheltered in craggy mountains and underground tunnels.

Extremism had evolved in Egypt, sprinkling the land with its chaos and disruption. Attacks on foreign tourists were large in number, a shady attempt to cripple the country's economy by scaring off one of its main sources of income. The Egyptian president wouldn't stand for it and sought the help of the nation's strongest ally: the US government. Assassination was his reward and members of his cabinet shared a similar fate.

Islamic extremists behind the murders were on the move to instill their own regime over what they considered a "weak and unstable government." The US intervened, the incoming storm swooped in, and the clash of titans had begun. Mortar shells flew and bombs exploded in a sinister orchestra that would make even the devil himself cower in fear.

Men like Bryan were supposed to prevent that darkness from eclipsing this land, but they'd only encouraged it. The country was years from stability, doomed to a US occupation nobody wanted for its own good. Until Egypt could recover and get on its feet again, US soldiers had no choice but to remain in the country to ensure its safety. Weeks passed and it seemed the attacks had calmed. Meanwhile, Egyptians struggled to better what remained of their homes—and of themselves.

* * *

Bryan's commanders had assigned him patrol duties, but nothing changed. It was the same pattern each time, and with it, his boredom grew.

He went outside his base, which stood behind walls of sandbags and barbwire. Beyond it and the city was the faint outline of the pyramids on the horizon. Tearing open a fresh pack of cigarettes, he stuck one between his teeth and lit it alight with a couple flicks of his lighter. He let loose a suppressed moan.

He liked to breathe in the cigarette fumes in one long, stimulating drag, his gateway to invulnerability. He'd swirl the smoke around in his mouth and watch the tobacco burn between his fingers as his mind succumbed to the nicotine. For a while, he'd have salvation and then it'd ebb away before his eyes and leave his taste buds yearning for more. A man could only stay invulnerable for so long until reality came roaring back like a tidal wave.

"Hey Bryan, you fatheaded prick. How's things?"

He smiled as he watched his friend come stand next to him in his dark sunglasses and camouflage cap turned to the side. "The way they always are, Martin, you lanky sunuvabitch. How you been holdin' up?"

"Still feelin' crappy, but hey, it's an improvement." Martin put a hand over Bryan's shoulder. "Seriously though, I still feel I owe ya for back there. I know I keep bringing this up, but if you ever need a favor, just let me know, all right?"

Bryan smirked, the cigarette bouncing in his mouth. "That's thoughtful of ya, Martin, but I told ya: I ain't one to ask for favors."

Martin sucked the air in between his teeth. "C'mon, Fury! You saved my life. I got connections, I know people. There's gotta be something I can do for ya."

"Uh-uh. I'm sure. Don't worry about it." Bryan patted his friend's back in reassurance.

"All right, Fury. Suit yourself." Martin shrugged and waved him off. "I gotta go find my squad. Just remember to be careful out there, bud!"

Bryan mimicked the gesture and hunched over in his seat of stacked crates. He'd never forget how he met such a character. Weeks ago, he'd found Martin wounded in a ditch after an intense firefight with the enemy, alone, breathing faintly, and without his transceiver to notify anyone of his location. Bryan was just thankful to have stumbled upon him before it was too late and call in a medic.

His thoughts began to stray from the rescue the moment he saw everyone gearing up.

After he stamped out his cigarette, he left to find his own squad.

The heat had escalated in this outdoor oven called Egypt. Underneath Bryan's clothes, his undershirt clung to his skin and he could imagine what a soaked newspaper must've felt like on the pavement. He preferred cooler climates where he didn't feel troubled by such harsh weather. After sunset, it wasn't so bad.

Together with his squad, he was on patrol again. He was in the far back of the line with his squad leader at the front of it with a convoy and tank in tow. Due to the relaxed atmosphere, nobody was on edge. The soldiers several feet ahead of him cackled with dark humor and profanity. The jokes had taken their minds off what was otherwise a serious situation. It wasn't the time to get careless, but even soldiers had to lighten up on occasion.

Bryan yawned aside one of his comrades. "Another day and no action."

"And that's a bad thing?" Glenn, the other soldier, answered as he winced under the heat wave.

"Not exactly. I just wish something would freakin' happen all ready."

"Don't jinx it, man. We've already been through enough hell as it is. Don't you agree?"

Bryan cringed as he thought about the protests against the occupation. Egyptians would rally themselves in the streets, set fire to US flags, and chant for all Americans to leave their country. It was a nuisance at times, but he couldn't blame them for how they felt.

"I see your point, but I can't help it. It's been weeks now and nothing's going on."

"Yeah, it has been awfully quiet lately, but we gotta do what we gotta do."

Bryan did everything in his power to keep from laughing. "Where's the fun in that? That's the problem with you, Glenn. You're such a goody-two-shoes."

"And your problem is being a self-righteous dick, Fury." Glenn's dark eyes smoldered and his pointy nose had wrinkled. "I don't know how you got into the military with that attitude."

"Well thanks for noticing, buddy. " Bryan slapped Glen's back."The Army needed some dicks. I figured they could use one more."

"It's not gonna get any easier for us, I tell ya. These people don't like us being here. The way they see it, we're on their turf. Anything could happen at anytime. "

As if to answer his prayers, Bryan saw some spectacle taking place down the street at an outdoor restaurant.

_Wonder what's going on there._

He couldn't help wanting to know as Glenn carried on with his nonsense. Bryan looked at his squad and then back at the restaurant. It was either stay here bored or check out the festivity. He'd made his choice.

Bryan snuck away and let his squad move on without him. He bolted across the street and approached the restaurant as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Unable to see from a distance, he whipped out his binoculars and held them up to his eyes. He frowned in disappointment.

_Should've known. Just people eating._

Bryan turned on his heel to leave, but then the blaring music startled and reeled him back. The soldier raised his binoculars again and peered through the lenses.

He recognized the strums of an _oud_ and the beatings of a _tabla_ drum. A belly dancer emerged on the dance floor in a black _bedlah_, spinning with a piece of fabric draped over her shoulders. See-through gauze adorned her stomach and a pair of silver bangles coiled around her slender arms. She was young, appearing somewhere between her early to mid-twenties.

Bryan smiled.

_Now that's more like it._

She danced to the tranquil melody of a _kaman _as the violinist drew the bow against its strings.

Bryan marveled over the bronze glow of her skin, her entrancing amber eyes, and shiny black hair tucked into a tight bun. She spun on demi pointe, with a flirtatious smile, as she swished the fabric over her head, as if in attempt to ripple the sky. He had seen imitations of this dance, but it was nothing more than watered-down, Americanized garbage. This was the real deal.

The belly dancer swayed and Bryan watched every move in amazement. She let the fabric flutter to the ground without interrupting the flow of the dance and spaced out her arms. The tempo of the instruments accelerated and thus the belly dancer unleashed the more tantalizing steps in her arsenal.

All attention shifted to her midsection as her hips slowly began to gyrate and swivel in a smooth motion. Then she took off, the movement of her hips and abdomen synchronizing with every melodic beat of the _tabla. _Her coin belt jangled and her looped earrings bobbed as her body vibrated like windswept grass.

With feet fixed to the ground, her arms alternated up and down as they assumed the slithery motion of a snake. For Bryan, this could go on forever and he wouldn't care, but to his disappointment, the woman concluded the dance with a bow. She left the dance floor to a loud applause and Bryan could only groan to himself. Yet, a minute later, the belly dancer resurfaced with a bamboo-made cane in hand. A glittery _beledi_ dress encased her body and a triangular headscarf covered her head.

The music took on a more folkloric rhythm with the high-pitched squeal of a _ney,_ and she danced again, into Bryan's head and into her audiences' hearts. Her belly contracted and rolled, teased and seduced, but he didn't mind. Soon, the belly dancer started clapping and put a hand to her ear, beckoning for the crowd's interaction. The audience gathered their courage and started to clap along with her. The women joined her in ululation and the dancer's grin widened. She waved her palm up for all to clap louder and clap louder they did.

Here there were no protests, no anger, or hate chants. Before Bryan was unity, the uplifting of a nation no longer in mourning.

The belly dancer flipped the cane upside down and kicked its handle to her shoulder. In a show of dexterity, she twirled the cane forward like a baton and traced shapes around her body. Then Bryan's focus averted to the wiggling of her quivering rump. He didn't dare look away.

She was unlike anyone he'd seen before; it dawned on him as she balanced the cane atop her head and sunk into a ___grand plié__. _Joyous and undaunted, she stepped off her heels in a sprightly side-to-side single-legged hop.

She pivoted on her toes, the hem of her dress flying up as she twirled and flipped her prop. The beat of the music sped up and the dancer bent herself backward, whirling the cane faster the further she arched her back closer to the ground. After she threw herself into a lengthy, energetic spin, she pumped her cane into the air with both hands in a dramatic finishing pose. The applause from the audience was thunderous and with a grateful bow, the belly dancer vanished.

Bryan stood in awe. No doubt about it, her dance was phenomenal.

He had to tell her himself how wonderful her performance was, even if she'd heard the compliment before. It just seemed criminal to let her go without knowing. Then a problem surfaced: he couldn't find her. He scanned every possible exit from the restaurant for minutes, but she didn't turn up anywhere. She was probably gone by now and all he could do was murmur a curse to himself. Just when he was about to give up his search, he spotted her making a hasty exit in a brown kaftan.

Now was his chance.

Bryan jogged after the woman and noticed she was alone. Before he made his move, he put away his M16 rifle and M9 pistol so he wouldn't frighten her. The moment he looked up, his mouth dropped open at two men screaming at the belly dancer. One of them reached for her purse as the other tried to restrain her.

"Uh-oh. Time to play hero!" Bryan muttered. He started to run to her rescue, but stopped as the woman's fists went into motion. Her arms bended in unusual ways and thus began an onset of unorthodox punches and hand swipes that not even Bryan's eyes could follow. The two thieves staggered backward, probably with no idea of what had just happened. The belly dancer threw herself to the ground on all fours and swept her attackers' legs from under them. They fell on their backs and she scurried at them like a spider with an intimidating snarl. Both individuals climbed to their feet and waved their hands in surrender.

Stunned, Bryan tried to deduce if what he had seen was real. Out of nowhere, this dancer had gained an unbelievable surge of strength and speed, and it was enough to encourage the assailants to reel away in retreat.

The woman dusted herself off and Bryan made a bold attempt to approach her.

"Uh…hey. Yeah…I was…um… just getting ready to rescue you."

Her head snapped in his direction and her face contorted into a hateful scowl as she took in his features and Army Combat Uniform. "You Americans always have to be the hero to the damsel in distress. Sorry if I am not that damsel."

"Ah, you speak English…"

"Yes, is that a reason for you to shoot me?" she mocked.

Oh, what a smart mouth she had. In a strange way, he liked it, as well as the way words rolled off her tongue.

"I like your voice. Say something in Arabic."

She glared but attempted to humor him. "_Homma kol el-amreekan wehsheen zayyak kedah_?"

Bryan smirked. "_Laaah , dool awhash bekteer_."

The belly dancer paused, dumbfounded.

"Yeah. Not bad for a dumb American, eh?" Bryan chuckled. "I've been around this block long enough to pick up some things."

Up close, her piercing eyes, cold as they were, reminded him of a lion. There were secrets hovering about this woman, some hidden behind that iron stare, he sensed. Was it a cry for help or was it just not his place to care? One thing was certain: this wasn't the same woman he'd seen dancing.

Her icy glare started to annoy him after awhile. "Jeez, I'm not going to hurt you all ready."

"I am not worried about you hurting me. I am worried about you _trying_ to hurt me."

"No, I'm serious. I just saw your performance and wanted to say--"

The belly dancer scoffed. "I do not believe you. You Americans will say anything to save face. You just want the whole world to do as you say as you continue to spill our blood. Your government lies and gets away with murder like they are now just becau--"

"Hold it! I don't agree or appreciate a lot of things my government does. You don't know me enough to know what I'm like, lady, so maybe you should quit passing me off as something I'm not." Bryan's nostrils flared, her comments having struck a nerve within him.

Fed up, she turned to leave and Bryan didn't bother to chase her this time. Strange as it sounded, he liked the conversation he had with her, albeit it was a bit short and rough. Now that she was gone and the dance was over, he figured it was best to head back to his squad before they learned of his absence. On the way, he couldn't stop thinking about the belly dancer and her dance.


	2. Chapter 2

Another day had passed and it felt like déjà vu all over again for Bryan: patrolling the same streets, feeling the scorn radiate from Egyptian passerbys, enduring the stench of open sewers, and listening to his squad leader's rambling orders. How he longed to sit under the shade of a palm tree instead of sweeping long corridors of old buildings for possible enemy hideouts.

Bryan took a swig of his canteen and rubbed the remnants of water from his lips. He'd kill to smoke a cigarette now and would if he hadn't used them all up. The locals he could make out smoking _shisha _near the marketplaceweren't helping. Yet, no fun compared to the kind he had with that belly dancer yesterday. He remembered her kohl-rimmed eyes, dark green nail polish, and callous words.

His head cocked in the direction of the restaurant where he saw her dance. He couldn't help the urge of wanting to go back there. It made him feel like a child who'd rode a carnival ride and wanted to go again.

"Forget about it, man," he heard Glenn say behind him. "I wouldn't waste my time there, if I were you."

Bryan growled, "Why don't you shut up?"

"I'm just saying. These people don't like us. I don't see why you think it's ok to wander around and mingle."

"I wasn't mingling."

"Then what were you doing when you ran off yesterday? You were lucky nobody noticed but me."

"None of your damn business, all right? Just don't mention it to anyone, ok?"

"Ok, Bryan, fine. If you wanna go, then go. Just remember that if you get caught, don't come crying to me about it."

"Yeah, yeah."

Bryan dashed off again when the opportunity presented itself. He returned to the restaurant and had the pleasure of catching another entertaining dance of the belly dancer from behind a group of plants.

Her bare feet pattered in sequence with the drumming. She moved in a controlled and concentrated flow, a true expert in her craft. Lean hips lifted and dropped to the jangles of a _riq _as the woman's passion oozed like blood from a gunshot wound.

Minutes later, the belly dancer bowed and disappeared. He waited for her near the same spot she made her exit last time.

She emerged into the alley and he smiled in silence. It was so good to see her again, even if she didn't feel the same way about him. She started to walk away with her back turned to him and suddenly came to an unexpected halt.

Her head rose and turned in acknowledgement to him. "You don't learn, do you?"

"Whoa. How'd you know I was…"

"I know a lot of things you would not expect me to know. I saw you watching me. I have had stalkers before."

"Wait, stalkers? I wasn't stalking you!"

"What are you doing here, then?" She furrowed her eyebrows and gave him a questioning stare.

"I wanted to see you perform again."

"What?"

"Your dance. I wanted to see it. What I wanna know is, how are you able to do those moves?"

"After everything I said yesterday, you still come here, watch me dance, and you still want to talk to me?"

"Yeah."

He knew it was impolite to stare, but he couldn't help it. The mystic yet lost look in her eyes had this habit of luring him back into staring at her.

She rested a hand on her hip and snickered in pity. "You are one strange American."

"Well, you know, what can I say? I'm a natural." When he saw her scowl again, he opted to toss the jokes aside and get to the point. "So…the dance. How do you do it?"

She snorted, turned her back to him again, and walked off.

"It was nice talking to you too!" he shouted at her but she acted as if she hadn't heard him. Bryan then realized how fun it was to mess with her.

_Damn, she's hot._

Every night, Bryan thought of the belly dancer. Her motions were so hypnotic they'd make his eyelids heavy and lull him to sleep—if he could sleep; he couldn't keep his eyes shut for under a minute and he'd lay awake for hours until it was time to head out again.

He'd battled combat fatigue and trudged around with a loss of appetite brought on by the gritty images this war had inflicted on him. Nonetheless, envisioning the belly dancer's sensual shimmy and smile seemed to ward all those negative thoughts and feelings away.

She danced at every corner of his mind with a series of belly rolls and wrist rotations—a goddess in the far-off desert. Not a day went by without her invading his thoughts and not once had he minded the intrusion.

For a couple days, he didn't have the pleasure of seeing her; military procedures changed and hindered his chances of going to visit her. The wait for an opportunity to break away from his squad was agonizing, but when it surfaced, he didn't hesitate.

He caught one of the belly dancer's performances days later and another the following week. Their encounters stuck to the same formula every time of her insulting him and walking away, and Bryan was sick of the redundancy. A couple days later, he waited for her to come to the same spot as always after the dance was over. When she did, he approached her and couldn't help feeling that something was different about her.

"Hey."

"Your persistence is starting to annoy me. Obviously, you must like being insulted."

Her voice was softer, lacking that harsh, bitter tone he'd grown used to. His curiosity piqued at the change.

"Hey, what you say to me is no different then what people say to me back in the States."

Her eyes just narrowed and an uncomfortable silence brewed between them.

"So," Bryan began, "Where ya headin' after this?"

"Home." She stared at him a moment, gazed over her shoulder, and flatly said, "That is where I live, after all."

Her and that mouth again. God, he loved it.

Bryan figured what he was about to say was pushing it, but he gave it a shot anyway. "Would you like some company on the way?"

Contorting her face, she paused for what seemed like a long time.

"Makes no difference to me."

To say Bryan was overjoyed was an understatement.

They made a quiet walk down the alley, often having to weave around beggars and their cupped bone-thin hands. Bryan had inquired the belly dancer why she'd chosen to walk through a place that seemed like a haven for muggings. Sometimes, she wouldn't answer him, and others she cited it was an easier and faster way to get home. He didn't know whether to think she was brave or just crazy, but from what he deduced from the attempted mugging the other day, a typical woman she wasn't.

That aside, he stole multiple glances at her with the longing of wanting to know more about her.

"That belly dance you do at the end of your performance is really something. You know, the one with the cane?"

"You mean, the _raqs al assaya_," she stated in a dry voice. "And we call it '_raqs sharqi'____, not 'belly dance.'"_

"Um, yeah…that one." He ignored the correction and focused on her dance. "You're a really talented dancer, um—say…what's your name, anyway? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"What is yours?" she retorted.

"Oh, I get it. Okay, fine. I'm Bryan."

"Bry-un…"

"Yeah, pretty generic, right?" He laughed.

She didn't answer; a woman of few words indeed.

"So how about you?"

She grew silent, shoulders sagging as she clutched her purse between her fingers.

Despite her claiming she wasn't afraid of him, Bryan couldn't help but sense fear and it annoyed him. Anytime they were close, she'd move a few steps away to widen the gap between them. Her footsteps were so silent and reserved compared to his it was almost eerie.

"Look lady, I've told you once and I'll tell you again: I'm not going to hurt you, all right?"

"If I thought you were going to hurt me, I would not let you walk with me."

"Then what's the problem?"

She sighed. "You have to understand…it is hard when it concerns someone like you."

"I see. Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don't appreciate this war any better than you do. I'm sick of seeing blood and carnage all the time. That's why I liked your dance. It was a nice break from reality."

She looked away, quiet, eyes downcast. Seconds passed before she uttered, "Zafina…"

"Excuse me?"

"My name…is Zafina."

Bryan gazed at the sky. "Ahhh…Zafina."

"Yes? Do you find something wrong with my name?" She glowered.

"No, no. Of course not. I like it. It sounds exotic, powerful. I can just imagine when you come on stage and they announce your name: 'Ladies and gentlemen, the one, the only...Zafina!'" He mocked the people applauding, feeling stupid but not caring. "Has a nice ring to it."

She was mute at the compliment and his brain scrambled for a way to get her to come out of her shell. Nothing worked with Zafina; she'd just look at him stone-faced before her gaze wandered somewhere else.

There was one thing he hadn't tried so far.

He cleared his throat.

"So I was at the White House the other day, asking the president about when he thought low-wage workers could get a job since nothing's happened since he took office, and all I heard him say behind his chair was: 'Mmmm!' And I said: 'Mr. President, I don't understand. Please speak up.' He said the same exact thing, so I started to get a little worried, and I peeked over his desk to find him on the floor squirming around. Turns out he was too busy trying to pull his head out of his ass."

Zafina's cheek muscles stretched before she let out a slight chortle. It was a laugh, nonetheless.

"Ah-ha! So you _can_ smile outside of dancing."

"So what if I can?"

Bryan liked the defensive tone in her voice. He had her right where he wanted her.

"The only time I see you smile is when you dance. I bet you smile a lot, but you're not choosing to because I'm around."

"There is not much to smile about."

"I get ya on that, but sometimes you gotta find something that does so things don't get to ya as much. You can do that, can't ya?"

He saw her tense up at his question. She didn't like questions and he didn't like not getting answers.

Before he knew it, they'd reached her home: a small, quaint adobe brick house. The subject was lost.

Bryan observed the structure and nodded to himself. "So this is your place, huh?"

Zafina stopped at the door and answered with a curt "Yes."

Bryan chewed the inside of his cheek and scuffed the ground with his boot. "So…guess I'll see you later, then?"

Zafina went inside and closed the door without a word.

He sighed. If only she was more open, it'd ease the tension, but he couldn't blame her. His people had ravaged her land with bloodshed and economic despair after all. On this side of the world, strict customs taught women not to interact with strangers. Bryan had all ready overstepped that boundary, but she had too. Through talking to her, he risked endangering her safety and possibly his own.

She wasn't anything like the women of her homeland. It felt odd that she'd led him, a stranger not among her people, to her home, given he wouldn't do the same. She was either confident of her skills to protect herself or she was just ignorant.

Nevertheless, he was an outsider, limited to only observing and basking in the daydreams he had about her. Something told him to leave her alone and stop pursuing her, but she was too intriguing to avoid or forget.

Bryan returned to his squad again, thankful he'd at least learned her name.

* * *

Bryan loved drawling Zafina's name repeatedly, savoring and preserving every vowel.

He pondered seeing Zafina dance today, but wasn't so sure it was a good idea. Maybe he should stay and let his brain rot like Glenn and the other soldiers.

_No way. _

Of course, he knew he wasn't kidding anybody. He was going to go back to that restaurant and watch her as long as he could, like a stubborn little boy sneaking out of the house against his parents' wishes. Opportunity soon sprung and he was off to see Zafina again.

Bryan knew he endangered himself every time he ventured out alone. Even though the country saw a decrease in violence and extremist activity, the war wasn't yet over. Anti-American sentiment was still strong, but why did he feel that when it came to this woman, none of his own safety mattered? Instead of staying where he belonged, he chose to run off and brave the consequences. Maybe all this fighting had made him lose his sanity.

_Yeah…maybe. _

He returned to the restaurant and saw her dancing tothe serene sound of a _kaneen_as a man sung in Arabic off in the background.

After another stunning performance, Zafina met him at the usual spot and neither spoke of what transpired the other day. She allowed him the pleasure of accompanying her home once more and he rewarded her with a slew of praise for her dance.

"You're so talented. Is there anything else you can do?"

"Why yes. I can turn obnoxious soldiers into toads."

"Awesome! Can you tell fortunes also? Yeah, stereotypical, I know." He laughed. "I know for sure you know how to kick someone's ass. Did you learn how or did it just come naturally?"

"I learned. It was a requirement after I took this line of work," she said. "I have an array of talents that make me observant to everything around me. I can tell a lot of things about a person by just looking at them."

"Is that so? And what can you tell about me?" He couldn't wait to hear this.

"Do you really wish to know?"

"Go for it."

She paused and then made full eye contact with him. "I look at your face and I can see the confusion, the uncertainty written across it that I have seen on many. I can see a man, a man unsure of his identity and the choices he makes to find one."

Bryan's eye twitched. "You tryin' to read my mind or somethin'?"

"I don't read minds, I read _people_. In your quest to find your identity, every choice you have made for yourself you have regretted because it leads to consequences. You should not be afraid. Every choice has them."

Her words were wise, confusing yet still wise. It was as if one glance enabled her to peer into his mind and see all that he couldn't. The feeling scared him a little. She looked twenty-years-old but spoke in a manner devoid of naiveté and carelessness.

"Lady, I don't fear anything. If you know so much, why don't you—"

"No person can ever know 'so much,' but a person can know very little."

The cryptic comments intrigued him no less.

"You need to learn to relax yourself to understand."

"Heh, you sound like one of those spiritual types. Talkin' all that stuff about 'journeys being individual' and all that other bullshit."

"It only sounds that way to a fool who has no understanding of himself or the actions surrounding him. You may mock such words but they are very real!" Zafina's cool and collected demeanor had diminished, and it was enough for him to take in every word.

Maybe he didn't understand himself like he'd thought. Years ago, Bryan declared he didn't see himself serving in the military and yet, years later, here he was—a soldier, resenting all the atrocities he'd committed. He knew associating with this woman was wrong, but with reasons beyond his comprehension, he'd done it anyway. His own mind was an enigma to himself, a pitiful truth unfolded by an abnormal woman.

Bryan decided to avert the discussion away from anything involving himself. "You seem to be more spiritual than religious, honestly."

"I am still a devout worshipper at heart."

"Do you consider working as a belly dancer and being religious a contradiction?"

"Religion is one thing, my life is something else. I pray and read the Qur'an everyday, but dancing is apart of me as well. It is my life."

"I see." He rubbed his chin and looked behind them. "Say, are there any other dancers at that restaurant? You're the only one I see."

"There used to be another other than me: Amisi. She used to be my pupil."

"What happened to her?"

Zafina's face grew somber before looking away. "She died…few months ago…caught in rocket explosion on her way to work."

"Oh…." Bryan shook his head, hating himself for asking her to relinquish such a tragedy; even those close to her were casualties of this war too. It seemed like only yesterday when he last heard the drunken slurs and cruel jokes of his deceased brethren in the "chow hall." Nowadays, for every time he finished his meal, he'd push his leftovers to the side, pretending a lost comrade still sat across from him to accept it.

No matter how he felt about the conflict plaguing Zafina's homeland, he knew he was powerless to do anything and feeling powerless was something he never liked.

"It is not just the Americans," she added. "Your enemy, our people, says they are fighting in the name of Islam, but they contradict everything the Qur'an teaches us. They sugarcoat their actions as 'acts of resistance' and it is that 'resistance' that leads to several of their own kind being killed while further tainting the Islamic faith."

"Don't ya just love irony?" Bryan grumbled and looked around.

He surveyed the pyramids of trash lining the streets and rooftops. A disheveled woman washed pots and pans outside her shanty nearby.

Bryan groaned. He'd helped cause families and future generations to live in an urban dumpster. What was once a land steeped in ancientry and serenity had warped into a playground of cynicism and poverty.

At first, he couldn't understand how Zafina coped with such stress, but then he put himself in her shoes and everything started to make sense. Whenever she danced, there was harmony, needless of flashing stage lights and billion dollar pyrotechnics. Belly dance was her solace, her inner world where the dead hadn't died and the living still had a future. She housed what Egypt was about. Overall, Egypt wasn't just the country. It was right here beside him--the joy, the sadness, and the pride.

They came to her house and thus came the obligatory silence. Bryan knew the routine; he might as well not even try. The soldier said his goodbye and set his sights on returning to his squad.

Then Zafina said something that stopped him in his tracks.

"Would you like to come in?"

Bryan spun himself around, heart beating faster than normal. Was she serious?

He swallowed the lump in his throat and took a moment to compose himself. "Uh…sure."

Before he put his foot in the doorway, he noted someone—a beady-eyed woman--scowling at him a few feet away from the house in a flowing black garment. He took it she wasn't fond of Americans, either. She was tall, face and hands wrinkled with age. Her eyes made a glance at Zafina and then she walked off.

Bryan rubbed his temple. "What was that all about?"

"That was my friend, Nailah."

"Didn't look too friendly to me," he muttered, unable to keep from looking over his shoulder.

"Nailah is like a part of the family. I have known her since I was a child. She respects me as an adult and allows me to make my own decisions. You need not worry about her." Zafina stuck her hand out, palm down with fingers brought toward herself in a repeated clawing motion as she beckoned him to come.

Out of respect, Bryan removed his boots and stepped into the house. "You don't think your family'll mind, do you?"

"I live alone."

Bryan felt his stomach lurch. "Wow, talk about independency."

Zafina scowled at him before her eyes softened. "Women here are often whispered about and prayed for if they live alone. It does not bother me much." She glanced at his body armor. "That looks heavy."

"No kidding." Bryan unbuckled his vest and exhaled in relief as he pulled it off with his helmet. He was under orders to wear kevlar the whole day, but he didn't sense danger in Zafina's company. "I've been wearing it all day. The heat doesn't help." He laughed and noticed she didn't react. "Don't take this the wrong way, but what'd you invite me in for?"

"I wanted you to come in for some tea," she said casually.

"Tea?" He blinked. "I don't get it. You were throwing insults at me not too long ago. I thought you were sick of me."

"Fine. Since you put it that way, you can just leave."

"Oh! No, no, no. Not at all. Tea sounds fine!"

Having come this far, Bryan knew leaving now was a bad idea. The least he wanted to do was offend her.

After making the tea, she poured him a cup and he took it with a grasp. Zafina was speechless.

His fingers had touched hers when reaching for the cup. It was then he felt something jolt up his wrist and make the tiny hairs on his forearm stand up.

"Whoops." Bryan took a moment to collect himself. "Y'all right?"

"Yes," came her terse reply. She shied away toward her seat and poured some tea for herself.

They both sat at a wooden table, each taking quiet sips. He still couldn't get his fingers touching hers off his mind. If only it could've lasted longer.

"So, Bry-un. How did you become a soldier?"

His head rose at the pronunciation of his name. Finally, she wanted to know something about him.

"It's…kind of a long story. You could say I, uh, wanted to reform myself."

"Ha, the good American having to reform himself."

"Actually, I wasn't exactly someone you'd call a 'good guy' before I joined the Army and never considered myself such." His eyes hardened. "I was a cop, a no-good, rotten, lowdown, selfish cop. I did a lot of things I wasn't proud of: I hurt people, abused my authority, totally went against everything the man behind the badge stood for."

"You were bad."

"You could say that…" Bryan stared into his half-empty cup. "I guess I just look at this as a chance…to try to start over. But everything I've been doing in this war…just makes it harder." He sighed. "Anyway, I believe I've said enough about myself."

Zafina hesitated and gave him a look as if she could read his thoughts. "You said you liked my dance…"

"Well yeah, of course. I've said it over a million times."

She frowned. "I like it when people come to see me dance, but you seem to be the only one."

"I don't get what you mean. The people at that restaurant come see you, don't they?"

"Of course they do, but they are mainly there for the food as well," Zafina said. "My parents never come see my dance because they consider it _harem_. They think of it as degrading, but they know it is apart of their culture, so that does not make any sense to me. When I dance, knowing someone is there watching solely for me makes me feel good, because I never got the same feeling from my parents."

"Damn."

"My sister used to come watch, but then she got married and moved to Jordan with her husband. Nailah is not much into it herself. I noticed you would come watch me everyday you could. I…appreciate that."

"And I don't regret doing it. You dance well. I mean, you're probably the best dancer in the whole country."

She pouted. "More like the _only_ dancer in the country."

"Hm?"

"There used to be so many dancers here in Misr and now there is…barely a handful," she muttered with a tinge of disappointment. "Most have left to do acting or singing because they cannot make enough on dancing alone."

"So you're one of the rare ones who chose to remain a dancer."

"Yes. In this country, ___raqs sharqi is slowly fading away." She exhaled. "_Everything has changed. No one cares or wants to see it anymore. It is an ancient craft that has migrated elsewhere."

"So then why still do it?" He bit his lip. That came out much harsher than he meant it to.

Her eyes shifted from the table to his face. "Because I still believe in it. I am trying to bring the art back and make people love it again. I know I am not succeeding much, but I at least want to try. One day, I want to open my own school and teach raq sharqi. It has been my dream since I got into it."

Every sentence surged with determination and Bryan could feel it.

"I wish you the best of luck. That's gonna be quite a challenge for someone like you. Not that I doubt you or anything."

"Mm." Zafina nodded. "I have been meaning to ask you…"

"About?"

"If it is not too much to ask," her stare started to deepen, "would you mind telling me how you got that scar?"

Bryan ran a hand across the mark on his face, recalling its origin. "Some wacko tried to butcher me with a knife when I was arresting him. The fellas nicknamed me "Scarface" after that, and they all seem to like it. It's pretty cool-lookin', don't ya think?"

Zafina scoffed. "Walking around with that on your face does not bother you at all, it seems."

"Not so much the scar, but the way I'm treated. Sometimes, I think people befriend me only because of my scar. They think it makes them look popular if they hang around a guy who's not normal."

"A scar is just a scar. It does not change the person underneath."

"Actually, there are times when it can."

Zafina pursed her mouth before her eyes veered to one of her clocks. "It is almost dinner time. Would you like something to eat?"

Bryan wasn't hungry but decided to comply with her hospitality.

"_Bismillah_," they each said before touching any food.

After she served him a plate, he nibbled on the _kushari_ and smiled to himself. "Hey, this stuff's pretty good. Better than that slop they serve in the chow hall."

Zafina placed her right palm on her chest, bowed her head, and closed her eyes in gratitude. "_Jazakallahu Khayran. _Glad you like it. It is all I have for now until I go out again."

"It's too bad I have nothing to give you in return for such a kickass meal."

"It is okay. You enjoying it is enough for me."

Bryan paid mind to eat, drink, and accept any food with his right hand only. He kept his feet tucked under the table, and although he liked alcohol as much as the next person, he knew better than to ask for any.

"Your parents don't stay with you, right? So where do they stay?" Bryan put his silverware down.

Zafina did the same, her voice sounding a bit rattled. "They stay miles from this village. They show up every now and then for a visit. My sister used to come by too…before the war started."

Bryan sneered at the mention of the war and tried to ignore it. "You think she likes being married?"

"Yes. She loves it. I remember when she got her limbs hennaed and I danced at her wedding. That was a lot of fun. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever experience the same thing."

Bryan nodded and feigned a full stomach, leaving the rest of the food left in his plate untouched. "Whew-ee, man! I don't think I could eat another bite. I should probably get going now." He moaned to himself with a powerful longing to stay.

"Very well." Zafina rose from her seat and started to collect the dishes.

When she reached for his plate, Bryan patted her back and stood. "Great meal it was."

Zafina gasped and froze, wide-eyed. The plate fell out of her grasp and the porcelain cracked over the table.

He paused. "What?" Then Bryan realized what he'd done wrong. In one moment of carelessness, he'd touched her, something forbidden by her cultural standards. Once was an accident, but twice didn't bode well in his favor.

"Oh crap…I didn't mean to--"

"It's…it's okay." Zafina drew her arms to her chest and brought her head down. She tried to weave around Bryan in a hasty attempt to leave the room and instead wound up bumping shoulders with him. The last offense was an unconscious habit on his part, but the accident was her doing this time.

They both froze, only centimeters apart, breaths hot with anxiety, unknowing of what to say to the other now. He'd touched her and she'd touched him. There was no going back for either of them.

Zafina tore her eyes away from Bryan in desperation. Despite how she might've felt, Bryan couldn't deny he liked the feeling she gave off. As the two stood in silence, Bryan felt a burning desire take hold of him.

He made the first move; slow hands raised to caress her arms. He was alien to this kind of interaction with a woman of her ethnicity and the feeling was no doubt mutual, but it didn't stop him. Zafina shivered and he felt her beginning to back away. She was probably going to scream or tell him to get out now. However, she did neither.

Zafina stopped withdrawing and inch by inch she walked back into his reach. Still jittery, her hands clutched and grazed at his arms. He knew then Zafina was fighting between temptation and morality.

Frantic fingers worked toward his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, the man underneath the bulky exterior. Their heads leaned toward the other's lips and with nothing to stop them they kissed, once and then twice before doing it all over again.

Instinctively, they make way to Zafina's bedroom and shed themselves of their clothes. His eyes roved over her bare skin. They stood before each other—prisoners now free of their shackles. Bryan could see the true beauty of this gem without the flashy bedlahs and religious outer garments cloaking its purity.

Their kiss lingered as they lay in her bed, exploring the depths of each other. Before Bryan knew it, Zafina's mouth parted from his, having come back down to Earth.

"Bryan…I feel…I feel this is wrong," she whispered.

"Only if you want it to be," he murmured back.

For once, she was the one uncertain.

Zafina quieted a moment before she kissed him again. "At first, I regretted meeting you," she smiled, "but now I am glad I did."

Bryan could only mirror the look on her face.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Hours passed and it was Bryan's moaning that pierced the silence. He looked beside him and saw Zafina's eyes still closed and her mouth set in a straight line. His finger neared her ear and flicked the earring that hung from it.

She awakened with a stir. Even in bed, she was a remarkable sight.

"_Sabah il-kheer,__" _he said to her.

"_Sabah in-nur,__" _she mumbled back with a grin, reaching over to him."Let me see your hand."

"Eh, what for?"

"Just do it," she asked without sounding too demanding. Bryan let her take his hand and enwrap it in her warmth. Zafina traced the lines in his calloused palm with her fingernail. "I see...strength of character." She smiled at him and her eyes fell on his scarred flesh before rubbing it. "Does it hurt?"

"It always hurts," he looked across to her, "but not anymore."

Zafina grinned again.

She was the antiseptic to his every wound and every sting had its own reward.

"From the day we met, I have felt you suffering, Bryan. You suffer just like me, and I cannot pretend anymore."

He turned away from her. "Your pain is different from mine."

"No, I assure you, it is shared."

Before Bryan could react, he glanced at the light shining into the room, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and cursed.

Zafina cocked an eyebrow. "Something the matter?"

Wide-awake, he jumped out of bed and hurried in putting his uniform back on.

"Christ! I was supposed to be back at the base!"

Amazing how one night with a woman could make him forget his priorities so fast.

Zafina crawled out of bed and sorted through her own clothes in haste. "I should have been on my way out by now."

Bryan fumbled with his attire and equipment and rushed to the door. "They've probably been trying to call me since yesterday."

"Are you going to leave me?" came Zafina's voice behind him.

"I have to get back. My squad doesn't know where I'm at right now."

Bryan didn't want to leave her, not now, not ever. Yet, he had to return to his base. He knew he had better have a good excuse for disappearing without notice. Right now, he had nothing, but he could figure out something on the way back.

Bryan and Zafina left together, darting toward their destinations. She trailed behind him as he escorted her to the restaurant. He was in more of a rush than she was. Before they could reach the restaurant, Bryan felt something overpower and drive him to the ground. He struggled under the immense weight and looked up to find three of his comrades from his squad restraining him.

"Hey, get off me! Get off me!" he screamed at them, but they held on.

His squad leader towered over him, eyes bloodshot and voice firm. "Where've you been, Fury? We've been trying to reach you through to you since yesterday and we haven't gotten anything from you. Did you know our squad was attacked last night? Do you realize four of our men are in critical condition right now?"

"Sir, I--"

"Save it!" he snapped. "We all ready know what's going on. Glenn told us everything."

Bryan gave his squad mate an accusing glare.

"Sorry man, but I couldn't just lie to them when they asked," Glenn said with a guilt-ridden look plastered across his face.

Bryan wanted to rip the man's head off, but as he strained to free himself, the hold his squad mates had on him only grew tighter.

"Bryan," his squad leader began, "you're under arrest."

They stood Bryan on his feet and hauled him away like a convict. He turned to Zafina and saw her peeking around the wall she'd hid behind, her face tense with displeasure. She'd saw the whole thing and she couldn't do anything about it.

No longer able to fight his restraints, Bryan watched her one last time before she faded from view.

* * *

He'd messed up big time and he knew it. Bryan was back home on US soil, not as a hero but as a felon. For his sentence, he faced imprisonment; desertion was the charge. If this were the nineteen-forties, he might've received the death penalty for his actions. Death didn't sound like much with what he was about to endure.

He sat in a cramped cell, forced to eat meals that made his belly ache and the bile rise in his throat. The plain, rusted walls seemed to close in on him by the hour and it irritated him.

Despite his unfortunate position, he still thought of _her_. She was the only thing that kept him wanting to live. He could still picture her swaying to the crisp, clear sound of her _sājāt _as she clinked them together with her wondered where she was and what she was doing now as he sat slumped in a corner. He craved for her lips, plump and juicy as a fresh pitaya. What he wouldn't do to see a shimmy or smell the fragrance of her jasmine-scented perfume again.

He'd overheard the war was over, but the news hadn't fazed him.

When his sentence was up, it was back to quiet suburban neighborhoods and good old bustling city living; back to mustard-drenched hotdogs and cheap alcohol; back to the life he'd left behind.

Even as he walked the Earth a free man, he didn't feel so. His friends and fellow soldiers shunned him and the government had stripped him of his civilian rights. He was older, tired and humbled, but he couldn't tell if he'd come out of that prison wiser. All Bryan's relatives were either dead or unwilling to associate with him, so it left him with nobody to rely on but himself.

The word "traitor" was synonymous with his name and he had to live with it. He'd turned his back on his country and defied some of the values that taught him what a soldier was all about. He wasn't there to help his comrades when he should've and it just made the guilt harder to bear.

The question plaguing his mind since his release remained: was one woman worth the dishonorable discharge and the five-year incarceration he'd suffered? Bryan couldn't answer that, and even more he pondered Zafina's status. Had she moved on and forgotten him? A lot could happen in five years, but he knew he'd do anything to see Zafina again.

The Army had forewarned him that any civilian was likely an enemy in disguise. Was this true of Zafina also? No, it just didn't seem so. A mental pang told him she wasn't the enemy and chastised him for even considering the thought.

He had to find out for himself what happened to her to end the suffering of not knowing. Maybe the idea was stupid, but he'd gone stupid since the day he met her.

He had no purpose left in America and he was without help. However, there was one person who hadn't cut him loose, one person he could still call.

He picked up his phone and dialed the number, hearing a ring.

"Hello?"

"Martin? It's Bryan."

"Fury…?"

"Yes. Remember that favor you told me about?"

* * *

He was back, welcomed by the sand on the ground and the hot air he'd grown familiar to.

Egypt wasn't his home, but he'd missed it like it was. Of course, he had no time waste. He remembered the route to Zafina's house and hurried there.

Bryan slowed his run to a jog and came to a stop. Nerves trembling, his jaw dropped and he fell to his knees at the sight before him.

Zafina's home was a mess of crumbled debris and charred wreckage. He sifted through the ruins and discovered some of the garments the belly dancer often wore marred by soot, dirt, and wrinkles.

He clenched his fists as they fell to the ground. She didn't deserve this, nobody did. War had taken her away from him and all he could think about was the day she admitted she was thankful they'd met. This was her punishment, her destruction, and it wasn't fair.

Bryan sat in the same spot for several minutes, silently cursing everyone and everything he felt was blameworthy for this tragedy.

The moment he stood to his feet, the feeling someone was watching his actions closeby overwhelmed him. He turned and saw Nailah staring at him with her signature scowl, carrying groceries.

"So you have returned," she said, not sounding surprised.

Bryan looked back at what remained of Zafina's house. "How long ago did this happen?"

"Months ago, long before the war ended. Sad how the Americans haven't repaired all the damages they have caused. Lots of people lost their homes...and their lives here."

He sighed.

"I know what you are thinking. She is not dead."

Bryan jerked his head up. "She's not?" He approached Nailah with an undeniable urge to grab and shake her. "Where is she then?"

"Calm yourself. She was not in the house when it was destroyed. Me and her had fled before that happened." The old woman cleared her throat. "I know where she is. I can take you to her."

Bryan's eyes widened, the cold sweat leaving him. He had no other choice; he had to trust her. "If you could, I would appreciate it." Nailah opted to lead the way, but before Bryan followed, he had to release the question gnawing at him. "How come you're helping me?"

"I am not doing this for you." She sneered. "I have known Zafina a long time and I have never heard her speak highly of any man in the way she speaks of you. She must see something special about you that I do not. All I care for is her happiness…even if it is with an American."

"Thanks…I guess."

Having said enough, Bryan resumed his pursuit.

* * *

It was a short walk to the house. Neilah had insisted they take a route where less people were likely to see them. Bryan couldn't see why that was necessary with the war over, but he complied. On the way, he espied the _munaqabas_ shuffling through the streets and it left him curious as to how much Zafina might've changed.

The lump in Bryan's throat had expanded as he knocked on the wood-frame door. Nailah was behind him, waiting for someone to answer. He wondered if Zafina would recognize him or feel he'd changed too much over the years.

His wooly chin started to itch. He knew he shouldn't have skipped out on the shave.

The door stretched open with a creak and Bryan felt a sudden pull in the pit of his stomach. His eyes met with the woman's, her sullen face just as youthful and delicate as he remembered it. She was clad in an _abaya_, staring at him in stunned silence.

"Uh…hi," he managed in a casual tone despite the moment seeming anything but.

She said nothing.

"Mind if I come in?"

She inched away from the door and after he and Nailah stepped in, solitude was theirs.

"Bryan!" Zafina cried out and surprised him with a strong hug.

He returned the embrace. "Hey…I missed you."

"I missed you," she whispered, still in his arms.

* * *

Zafina had dismissed Nailah from the room. The old woman had appeared reluctant, but obeyed with her friend's plea.

Bryan explained to Zafina bit by bit about his time in prison. In return, she exchanged how the US government compensated her a new home and how she was looking to move anyway. She seemed happy to see him, but he couldn't help but sense there was more to her feelings than she was letting on.

"I thought they had locked you up forever and I would never see you again. I could not even do the one thing I love most when you were gone." She frowned. "I tried to move on, but I could not, because every man's face I saw reminded me of you."

"Really?"

"Yes. My family could not understand why I refused to allow any man to take me as their wife when they approached me. They heard about my feelings for you. Nailah let it slip and what they heard sickened them. They said I had shamed them, our family, and even Islam itself. They tried to get me to forget you and find someone else more like me."

Bryan shook his head.

"But I could not," she continued. "They kept saying, 'Look at what his people have done to our homes and our lives.' And I told them: 'I don't care. I don't care. I still love him!'" Tears started to well up in her eyes as she recalled everything without a sob. "Even Neilah did not want me with you and kept scolding me for liking you. It's just not fair. It's not fair, Bryan."

"It never is." He grumbled. She'd broken her traditions because of him and vice versa, and neither would get any peace from it.

"I prayed to Allah constantly like I had made a mistake, but you were not a mistake. The way I felt for you was genuine, and I feel that Allah is forgiving and understanding enough to agree that what I did and how I felt was not wrong." She embraced him again, unable to hold herself back. "I am sorry, Bryan. I blame myself for them taking you away. If…if you had never met me--"

"I wouldn't have had any reason to live. You're the best thing to have happened to me, Z." He cradled her head close to his chest. "But hey, everything's all right now. I'm here."

"Bryan… you know I am glad to see you again, but…but…"

"But?"

"…you should not have come back."

He pulled away from her. "'Shouldn't have come back'? Sorry, Z, I do a lot of things I shouldn't do. I went outta my way to see you again, so we could be together, y' know? "

"Your presence will only cause trouble if people see you with me. There will be threats, consequences."

"To hell with those punks!" His emotions boiled over like a pot of benzoic _acid_.** "**You once told me that every choice has consequences. Well, I paid for mine and you wanna know why I don't regret anything? Because, in spite of everything that's happened, one good thing came out of it—you! "

"If we were together, we would have to run and be private about it."

"So? What's wrong with that? I mean, who has to know?"

"You are not getting it, Bryan!" Her eyebrows started to furrow. "For a long time, I have had to conceal my face, my body, even my own life." She snorted. "Concealing our relationship would be just me concealing another aspect of my life."

"But—"

"I do not want to hide anymore, Bryan! I am sick of it. I want to be free and open, just like I am when I am dancing."

"Then why don't you come with me, Z? We can both be free together and it won't be a problem."

"I…cannot. A war is still going on between your people and mine, despite what the media thinks. I can feel it. As long as it continues, you and me…we cannot be together. Our people must learn to coexist, to stop their closing their minds and dictating our we should feel, how we should think. Maybe one day all this violence and racial tension will end. Maybe that day will come. Please, try to respect that, Bryan."

"But Z--"

"Bryan…." she urged.

Bryan groaned, but left it alone. He knew she was beyond persuading.

Before anybody said anything else, Bryan's attention focused on the door as he heard commotion from outside. "What the heck's going on?"

Nailah reappeared and peeked through the door. "We have company."

"_Wallahi al-azim shoft amreeki dakhal al-beete dah! Wallahi al-azim shoft amreeki dakhal al-beete dah!"_ An angry man shouted from outside.

"I told you it wasn't over. Bryan, you have to leave before they come and kill you!" Zafina grabbed a _niqāb_ and hurried in putting it on while heavy thuds sounded behind the door.

"What about you and her?" He gestured to Nailah after he helped them lock and barricade the door with tables.

"We shall be leaving too." The old woman veiled herself also and motioned to an alternate exit. "This way, hurry!"

They ran into an alley splitting into two different paths.

"It would be best if we split up." Nailah held onto Zafina. "Bryan, you go one way and we will go the other."

"Good idea." Bryan turned to the belly dancer and it dawned on him that this was their last moment. They shared a hug. He pulled down her niqāband kissed her, not wanting to pull away, but he forced himself to."It was nice to see you again." He smiled. "I assure you it won't be the last time."

"_Fi Amanullah….__"_ Zafina choked.

He didn't see this as goodbye, however. This was only temporary.

Bryan broke away from the huddle and ran with everything he had. As the feeling in his legs burned, he dared to look back at Zafina, who watched him as she ran with Nailah. They had their final glance.

The two women disappeared from around the corner and all ready he missed her.

Bryan smiled.

He knew they'd meet again, one way or another.

**End**

**Author's Note: **After months of hard work, the story's finally done! So…yeah. **Junking **and I were on the phone in July of last year talking about fanfic pairings and such. He pitched the idea of this fic to me and we both laughed at how silly it sounded at first and took it as a joke that would never happen. Then I thought, "Hey, it doesn't sound like a bad idea." So, yeah…there ya go. A big thanks goes out to **Razer Athane** for being a supportive friend, Junking for the idea and support, and everyone else who supported me on my hiatus. Thanks for reading, guys.

**Glossary, cultural explanations, and translations **

**Kohl: **A soft powder. It is a traditional eyeliner in the Middle East, including Egypt and India since ancient times. It darkens the eyelids and has become very popular because it is easy to apply and glides on easily.

**Kushari: **a cheap Egyptian food consisting of spaghetti, macaroni, rice, lentils, corn, fried onions, and a spicy tomato sauce

**Chow hall: **A cafeteria of a US military installation.

**Harem: **In Arabic, it refers to something that is considered forbidden. Alternate meaning refers to a house or a section of a house reserved for women members of a Muslim household. There's more to the word than what I explained, but that's all you need to know.

**Bismillah: **In the name of Allah (Used before praying, eating, etc).

**Jazakallahu Khayran: **May Allah reward you for the good (expression of thanks).

**Sabah il-kheer:** Good morning (morning of goodness).

**Sabah in-nur:** Reponse to "good morning" (morning of light).

**Homma kol el-amreekan wehsheen zayyak kedah:** Are all Americans as ugly as you are?

**Laaah , dool awhash bekteer:** Nah, they're a lot uglier.

**Wallahi al-azim shoft amreeki dakhal al-beete dah:** I swear I saw an American go in that house.

**Misr**: Means "country," but it's also the name the Egyptians use to refer to their country. Can also refer to Cairo.

**Shista: **A waterpipe used for smoking.

**Abaya: **An overgarment worn by women that covers the whole body except the feet, face, and hands. Traditionally, it is black.

**Munaqaba**: Veiled woman.

**Niqāb:** Veil that covers the whole face except for the eyes. Currently, women are allowed to wear them by choice in Egypt.

**Fi Amanullah ****:** May Allah protect you (by way of saying goodbye).

**Allah: **Arabicname for "God."

**Raqs sharqi: **Oriental dance. Belly dance is the Americanized term.

**Bedlah**: (Pronounced "Bed-luh".) In Arabic, this means "suit". It refers to the cabaret-style beaded bra/belt/skirt/body stocking costume that a belly dancer wears for a performance.

**Beledi Dress.** a long, floor-length dress, frequently used in belly dance costuming. After performing a raqs sharqi routine in bedleh, the dancer usually goes backstage and changes costumes, then comes out wearing a beledi dress to do a folkloric dance.

**Raks al Assaya:**means "dance of the cane."It is a feminine variation of the Raks al Tahtib (stick dance) that men in Egypt perform. The Saidi dance, which is usually used in raks al assaya, is from Upper Egypt, between Gizeh and Edfu. The Saidi people are upper Egyptian farmers. Usually a Saidi dance is lively, energetic and earthy. The dancer uses one or two sticks, originally made of bamboo. There are two types of Saidi stick dance: Raks Assaya and Tahtib. The word Tahtib means dancing with sticks and it is originally a kind of conflict with sticks between men to show their power.

**Veil dancing:** While Americans refer to the piece of fabric used as a "veil", it's important to note that Egyptians do not link the fabric prop to the _hijjab_ (Muslim attire). Therefore, it's not exactly correct to refer to the prop carried by Egyptian Oriental dancers as a "veil" because that's not how they view it, culturally speaking. Egyptians view the fabric as an extension of their costume rather than a prop. Though Egyptians enter with the veil, it is not wrapped around their body, and it is not used in the same manner as the American style. The American version of unwrapping the veil is actually considered a strip tease move by some Arabs( because they are *taking something off*).

**Etiquette: **As a guest in an Arab home, it is customary to use the right hand when eating, passing, and accepting food and drinks, as well as making gestures like waving. The left hand is considered dirty, because traditionally it is used to clean oneself after using the rest room, so it isn't used. The soles of the feet are to be kept flat on the ground because they too are seen as filthy and to show them is disrespectful.

**Belly dance moves featured in story ( for the dance enthusiasts)**: Snake arms, shimmy, saidi hop, belly roll.

**Instruments**

_**Sājāt**_: Finger cymbals.

_**Kaman: **__violin_

_**Tabla**__: Drum_

_**Kaneen: **__harp_

_**Ney: **__Flute_

_**Oud: **__lute _


End file.
